


Forget Everything And Run

by wtfkovah



Series: F.E.A.R [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Cute, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Meet-Cute, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:02:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27254632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfkovah/pseuds/wtfkovah
Summary: “Is it just my imagination, or is that guy staring at me?”Jeonghan snorts without looking over, “Can you blame him? Those shorts are really small.”
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Lee Jihoon | Woozi
Series: F.E.A.R [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073687
Comments: 61
Kudos: 409





	Forget Everything And Run

Jihoon hates walking through the park, or at least he hates walking through _this_ park in particular.

During the day it’s filled with clusters of pretentious teens, who sit under the trees with their guitars, strumming out the chords of obscure songs and writing their fucking improv poetry. Then at night it turns all _Blair Witch Project_ , full of half-dead trees with spindly branches shaped like arthritic fingers that snag at your clothing and hair.

It’s especially daunting trekking through it tonight, and not just because it’s Halloween, but because Jihoon’s starting to think the trees are actually out to _get_ him. Seriously, he's never tripped so many times trying to walk through a forested area, and it isn't even fully dark yet.

Of course, the five or six pre-drink Vodka-Jello shots he had back at the dorm _probably_ have something to do with his lack of coordination. And possibly why the trees sometimes seem to have red, glowing eyes.

Jihoon blinks.

Okay, so...clearly his vision is playing tricks on him, making him see shit. That's all. He turns and looks in a different direction, stumbling onward.

He regrets not grabbing a cab to the party now, but he’s taken this shortcut to Jeonghan’s place hundreds of times before and it’s never been this difficult. Normally he would whip out his phone and try to Google maps his way out of here, but _conveniently_ he can’t get a signal and he seriously doesn't think he has the coordination at the moment to climb a tree and do it the old fashioned way.

He stops in a small clearing for a minute to breathe and get his bearings. Well, to _breathe_ anyway. He has no hope of figuring out where he is when the only light source he has is the _moon_ , and the treetops here are so tall and leafy, whatever moonlight does break through, casts latticed shapes that shiver and shift along the rustling leaves, amping up the creepy factor.

And oh, oh, if _that_ all wasn’t bad enough, there is also the small fact that he is freezing his ass off in the most humiliating Halloween costume dare ever. The shorts barely cover his butt cheeks, and the skin-tight Hello Kitty T-shirt Jeonghan had found in a thrift shop keeps riding up his waist.

 _This can’t get any worse—_ Jihoon thinks, indulging in a moment of shameless self-pity.

Of course, just _thinking_ that is an invitation for Universe to prove you wrong, and suddenly he’s tripping over another one of the fucking tree roots and flailing, sending his phone flying out of his hand and skidding across the grass.

He’s so exhausted and caught off guard by this point, that he drops to his knees with a thud that he feels in his teeth. It feels like he’s been walking for _miles_ and he honestly doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to get back up again, doesn’t know if he could even begin to try. But then, just as he’s crawling towards his phone, palms spread wide on the damp grass, something lands with a thump at his side.

Jihoon jerks upright, blinking through the darkness at the small red ball that’s landed next to him.

He's reaching for it, before he can think better of it, but he doesn’t even manage to lay a finger on the ball before there’s a low growl filling the air, accompanied by a sound like a branch cracking.

Jihoon twists his head towards the noise and _that’s_ when he sees it.

There’s a shadow angling toward him through the dense tree line. A shadow moving slowly and cautiously along the ground, like a predator. A shadow with bright red eyes.

Jihoon clenches his hands into fists, anticipating the attack. He is small, but fast, and pretty sure that he can take whatever it is down without too much trouble...until the shadow suddenly lurches upright, standing up like it’s sprouted legs.

It looms over him now; a hulking shape of hunched shoulders and powerful arms ending in clawed hands, and in the faint moonlight, Jihoon can see every inch of its exposed flesh is bristling with thick, black fur.

It's much, much bigger than him. It's taller than two men put together—like it could swallow him down him whole.

In that moment, all Jihoon knows is that it wants to.

Jihoon doesn’t even bother to turn his torchlight back on. He doesn’t think, doesn’t stop, doesn’t scream—only scrambles to his feet and breaks into a run. 

He’s running blind, he knows. Running like he’s never run before; sprinting over bushes and past the trees with their gnarled roots, running as fast as his feet allow with all of hell snapping close at his heels.

There’s nothing following him in the sense that it’s crashing through the brush and chewing his face off, but he can feel it—he can feel it coming and that’s more than enough. Enough to ignore branches and brambles that scrape his elbows and knees as he tries to push through them, to right himself automatically as he shoes slip-slide through patches of wet leaves.

He feels like he’s been running for hours when he finally bursts through a gap in a hedge and slams into a huge, hairy Gorilla.

Everyone screams: Jihoon, the Gorilla, as well as the half dozen children in Halloween costumes trailing behind him—until Jihoon quiets enough to realise he’s somehow made it out of the park, and stumbled right into the path of a father ferrying a group of trick or treaters around the neighbourhood.

“Oh, shit—sorry. I didn’t mean to scare your kids, I was just taking a short cut through the park and I thought something was following—” Jihoon trails off awkwardly as the man in the Gorilla costume shoots him a dirty look and ushers the children away.

Blinking, Jihoon spares a look at his outfit and winces when he realises that in his mad dash across the park, his clingy little T-shirt has hiked up. Like _way up_.

All the material is bunched under his armpits now, exposing his midriff and perpetually alert nipples, and combined with the way his shorts are being _swallowed_ by his ass cheeks, it’s just, _yeah_ …

It’s not a good look.

It probably looks like he had wild sex with some stranger in the park, or maybe that he’s some kind of _Halloween flasher._

He takes a moment to put himself to rights, before anyone _else_ gets the wrong idea—then whips his head to the side when he hears a twig snap from somewhere behind him.

There's a moment of silence, just long enough for Jihoon to be aware his heart is beating a little faster than usual, and he's been holding his breath without even realizing it. But nothing comes barrelling through the hedge after him. No shadow, no lurching monster with bright red eyes.

Maybe he’d just imagined it?

Nevertheless, Jihoon crosses the road quickly, running a hand through his hair. The fine hairs on the back of his neck are still prickling, and it takes every scrap of determination not to look over his shoulder towards the gap in the hedge again.

* * *

Jeonghan had promised the party would be low-key; just a select gathering of his friends and a few more of his housemates and plenty of free-flowing booze. Most importantly, he promised everyone would be in costume, so Jihoon wouldn’t feel spectacularly left out dressed like a slutty kitten.

Inevitably though word has gotten out, and every cash-strapped student in a five-mile radius has flocked to the house at the promise of free food and drinks. By the time Jihoon gets there it’s pretty much wall to wall with people he doesn’t know and doesn’t _want_ to know, and as with _most_ Halloween parties only a handful of people have actually bothered to dress up.

Thankfully, everyone is too drunk or high to notice him and his ill-advised costume choice, though he still narrowly escapes having his shoes puked on three times just making his way inside to search for his friends.

He finally finds Wonwoo tucked into the corner of the living room, standing rigidly tall in his Harry Potter robes, and looking like he finds everything within a five-mile radius personally offensive.

“Guess we’re the only ones who bothered to dress up,” Jihoon huffs, slumping against the wall next to Wonwoo and stealing his drink. His adrenaline spike had plummeted somewhere between the park and the front door, leaving him too exhausted to fetch his own. He ends up handing it right back after a single sip though, because it tastes like _ass_.

Wonwoo makes a noise, something tight and unimpressed like he knows as much.

“Soonyoung promised he would be the Draco to my Harry, but then he came dressed as a Tiger and we had a fight about it. He left early when I refused to acknowledge what a convincing _tiger_ he makes. I really should have seen that coming.”

Jihoon’s lips twitch as he attempts to suppress a smile, purely out of sympathy for the long-suffering tone of Wonwoo’s voice. 

Soonyoung’s obsession with tigers is…well… it’s _worrying_.

Seungkwan’s join them a moment later, unfairly bitter about the lack of costume creativity on display when he isn’t even wearing one himself, followed by Jeonghan, who sloshes beer over the rim of his plastic cup as he throws an arm over Jihoon’s shoulder.

“Looking good fellas. I appreciate the effort you made Wonu, you always go the extra mile. And Jihoonie, _wow_. You were right—those shorts _are_ more like a belt. You must be freezing.”

Jihoon wiggles out of his grip before he gives into the urge to elbow Jeonghan in the gut—or even further down, where he _really_ deserves it.

“Hannie, what gives? Where the hell’s your costume? I only agreed to dress like because I lost that stupid bet, and because _you_ promised everyone else would be dressed up too. Now you’re not even following your own stupid dress code.”

“Woah, hey, I am wearing a costume,” Jeonghan raises his hands in a protestation of innocence, “Can’t you tell? I’m dressed as Jisoo, and he’s dressed as me. We swapped clothes for the day.”

“No. Wearing your boyfriend’s clothes is _not_ a Halloween costume. It doesn’t count.” Jihoon crosses his arms over his chest, daring Jeonghan to contradict him.

“He’s right.” Wonwoo adds, agreeing with him like the good friend he is. “You chickened out on us Hannie—you promised you’d be Dumbledore, and Jisoo would be Grindelwald. And you promised there would be butterbeer. This isn’t butterbeer Hannie—this is regular beer.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes heavenward.

“So I got a little side-tracked planning this party and forgot to pick up a costume. I’m sorry okay, I’m _sorry_. But I promise you’re not the only one dressed up. Minghao’s dressed as a mime and Junhui came as Boba Fett, and I’m pretty sure I spotted Mingyu earlier wearing a traffic cone on his head.”

“And there _is_ that guy over there dressed as a Werewolf.” Seungkwan adds, waving a hand at someone out of sight.

Jihoon turns to look, then he catches sight of the guy standing in the opposite corner, and freezes.

His mind is split: some part of him notes that the dude’s Werewolf costume looks good, with the twitching ears and blood red irises drastically unlike the college-budget hodgepodge get ups that usually dominate Halloween parties. The furry tail wagging behind him is _especially_ good; fashioned out of realistic looking fur that moves naturally, clearly designed by someone with decent crafting skills. Some other part of him is a little shaken with the realisation that he’s being unashamedly stared at in turn.

Not that Jihoon’s complaining.

The guy _is_ , no doubt about it, the hottest guy on campus. Tall and well built, nicely tanned—like maybe he spends a lot of time in the sun or maybe he’s just lucky enough not to burn hideously the way Jihoon does whenever natural light hits him. His jet-black hair has the cow-licked to hell and back quality Jihoon’s gets when he first rolls out of bed, but infinitely messier. Like all he _does_ is roll around in bed all day. It suits him though, even if the cut is a little out of style. Even if there’s a _twig_ sticking out of it. And _wow_ , does he have a pretty mouth.

Jihoon's cheeks go hot at the thought, and he quickly tears his eyes away. 

“Is it just my imagination, or is that guy staring at me?”

Jeonghan snorts without looking over, “Can you blame him? Those shorts _are_ really small.”

Jihoon does elbow him this time. “No, seriously, just look. He’s standing in the opposite corner. Next to the door. Tall guy, dark air, wearing a varsity jacket.”

Faking a stretch, Jeonghan turns his head casually over his shoulder, and then comes back round smoothly. 

“Oh shit, yeah. He’s staring right at you. He’s not even being subtle about it.”

“I know right?” Jihoon scoffs, trying not to seem too flattered by this attention even though the urge to preen is rising thick and heady.

Seungkwan tilts his head, considering, “He _is_ pretty hot though. Why don’t you go talk to him?”

Jihoon blanches. He doesn't know how to answer this, except to blurt, “No—no, no fucking way.”

Jeonghan rolls his head over to meet Jihoon’s gaze, amused and weary. “And why not? He’s totally checking you out.”

Jihoon has never really learned to lie convincingly to anyone, particularly not people he is used to being honest with, so it doesn’t occur to him to say anything other than the truth. “Because he’s really fucking hot. I can’t flirt with a guy _that_ hot. I’ll fuck it up.”

“We could go talk to him for you?” Jeonghan suggests, sharing a glance with Seungkwan.

“Yeah...” Seungkwan’s answering grin is slow and devious. “We could go over and…help break the ice.”

“No,” Jihoon says sharply, and he has to restrain himself from actually stomping a foot, “Don’t even think about it. I refuse to be another casualty of your matchmaking interference. Mind your own business.”

Jeonghan and Seungkwan give him twin looks of fond exasperation.

“Fine. Don’t talk to him. Just stay here in the corner all night and stop your shorts from getting sucked into your ass crack.”

Jihoon has every intention to do just that—except a moment later Jisoo comes to drag Jeonghan away somewhere, then Seungkwan’s slinking off to chat to some guy from his class, and then Wonwoo, who’s only half-listening to Jihoon begging him not to abandon him too, abruptly flies away mid-conversation because he spots someone dressed as Professor Snape and he just _has_ to go introduce himself, and suddenly Jihoon’s standing all alone and Werewolf dude is _still_ staring at him.

Jihoon moves to slouch against another wall, just in case Werewolf dude is actually trying to enjoy the view outside the window and Jihoon just happens to be in the way.

Apparently not.

The guy’s eyes follow him there too, sticking to Jihoon like tacks—sharp enough that Jihoon can feel them on his skin. At which point Jihoon decides manning up is definitely in order and pushes himself off the wall, closing the distance between them until he is standing right in front of the guy. That’s when his courage utterly fails him because Werewolf dude is _huge_ —so much taller and broader than he was standing across the room.

Which, yeah— _okay_ , things do tend to get larger the closer you get to them, but _still_. Nobody’s shoulders should be this wide, and those biceps— _fuck_ ing hell—one of them is easily the size of Jihoon’s _thigh_. 

Jihoon is desperately sorting through possible introductions, or excuses, or alternately trying to calculate how quickly he can run from the room, when the guy flashes him just about the warmest smile ever, and says, “Hey.”

“Oh, uhm—hi,” Jihoon breathes, feeling inexplicably dumbstruck.

He’s not used to being smiled at like that, especially not by nicely muscled, unfairly hot, floofy-haired guys. But Werewolf dude _has_ been staring at him, and that smile is definitely aimed in his direction, so he attempts to play it cool and assemble his _‘You are welcome to flirt with me’_ face. Which is really just his regular face with a bit more eye contact.

“Nice work on the costume, by the way.” He goes with the first thing pops into his head. “I pegged you as a traditional werewolf at first, but from that cool scar on your neck, I’m getting an _‘innocent guy gets bitten by werewolf, and is now struggling with his transformation’_ , vibe.”

Werewolf dude looks down at himself, surprise evident in his half-open mouth, stalled on the edge of saying something. Then he shakes himself out of it and murmurs, “You're right. I _was_ bitten by a werewolf, a long time ago. I...I really didn’t think anyone would pick up on that.”

“Well, I kind of have an eye for detail,” Jihoon says, running a hand through his hair nervously. He’s wearing it down tonight for a change, and without the bun to stop him, it's hard not to fiddle with it every oh, 5 seconds. “Although, I’ll admit the varsity jacket did throw me off a little. Is that part of the vibe, or are you just one of those guys who plays football and wants everyone to know it?”

The guy blinks, a slow cascade of dark lashes, and glances at himself again.

“Oh—you mean the clothes? Oh, these aren’t mine. I just needed something to wear so I could blend in with humans, so I knocked out the first guy who crossed my path and stole his clothes. I guess _he_ must play football. I don’t play football—though as a Werewolf, I do enjoy playing fetch _with_ balls... I don’t really think it’s the same thing though.”

“Very cool,” Jihoon nods elaborately, privately amused by the guy’s dark sense of humour, as well as his scary commitment to the whole _Werewolf Existential Crisis_ vibe he’s rocking. He gestures at the wolf tail next, now wagging enthusiastically from side to side, “And bonus points for the extra detail on the tail. How do you get it to move like that? Is it automatic, or do you have a wire running up your sleeve?”

The guys shrugs, “My tail wags when I’m happy.”

“Right. _Of course_ ,” Jihoon says, chewing on the inside of his cheek to keep from giggling. A completely uncalled for, irrational giggle. “Uhm, I’m Jihoon, by the way. Lee Jihoon.”

For a second, Werewolf dude looks almost self-conscious, then he smiles and holds out his hand.

“I’m.. Choi Seungcheol. Nice to meet you.”

Jihoon’s a little taken aback by the handshake, because seriously, a handshake? Since when did this become a job interview? He ends up shaking Seungcheol’s hand anyway of course, because he doesn’t want to seem rude—then completely _ruins_ the effort by maybe staring up at the guy a little longer than is strictly polite.

It’s weird, but he feels like he’s _seen_ the guy somewhere on campus before, though he can’t exactly place where.

The name seems familiar for some reason, but the guy’s broad physique and Varsity jacket are screaming ‘Sports Scholarship’ and Jihoon normally goes out of his way _not_ to socialise with jocks.

He went to a high school where the biggest, cruellest football players were revered as gods, and in his experience, collage footballers have all the ego stroking justification to be _bigger_ and _crueller._ Seungcheol has an easy, friendly demeanour though, and he’s yet to make asides about Jihoon’s height or his size 6 shoes or the fact that Jihoon’s gaze keeps detouring to his _enormous_ biceps. And he _did_ make an effort with his Halloween costume, which has endeared him to Jihoon a whole lot more than everyone else in the room.

“So, how do you know Jeonghan? Are you in his economics class?” Jihoon asks, hoping to draw out the unexpected camaraderie a little longer.

This time though, he doesn’t miss how the guy seems to be paying only a modicum of attention to his words while giving him a perfectly brazen and casual once-over. A once-over that seems to linger on his _shorts._

Jihoon is sure he should feel affronted, but instead feels something closer to excitement prickle over his skin.

“What’s the matter?” He says with an amused smile, “Never seen a guy in _shorts_ before?”

“Not ones _that_ short.” says Seungcheol, conversationally and not at all ashamed to admit he has been staring. There's a pause as his eyes zip around Jihoon's frame again, settling on his fluffy white cat ears this time. “I’ve never seen your type before. What are you?”

Jihoon’s eyebrow quirks up.

He’s pretty sure Seungcheol means something different but he has no idea what it is. Now that he thinks about it though, Seungcheol might not have been staring exclusively at his crotch, but a little to the side, where Jihoon’s glued a furry tail to the back of his shorts.

“This outfit wasn’t my choice by the way,” Jihoon pouts, tiny motes of nervous colour in his cheeks. “My friend picked it for me. I think I’m supposed to be a slutty kitty cat or something—not really sure I’m pulling it off. I feel kind of stupid.”

Seungcheol shakes his head. Disagreeing, and empathically too. “You don’t look stupid. I think you look really nice.”

“T-thanks.” Jihoon sends him a smile, vehemently ignoring the half-choked flutter in his stomach. He hunches his shoulders reflexively and tips his head so that his hair falls forward, trying for bored coolness with the added bonus of hiding his reddening cheeks. “So, uhm, can I get you a beer?”

“Beer?” Seungcheol echoes, nose wrinkling in confusion. It’s somehow cute and sexy at the same time.

“Yeah, you’re kind of empty handed right now, and this _is_ a party.” Jihoon pokes a thumb towards the kitchen. “Wanna drink or something?”

“ _Oh_ ,” Seungcheol says slowly, tilting his head towards the kitchen. When he looks back at Jihoon, his expression is all seriousness. “No.”

“Oh, uh. Okay then.” Jihoon swallows with difficulty, feeling a shit ton of awkward crash right on his head.

He doesn’t really know where to take the conversation from there, probably there isn’t anywhere _to_ take it. He doesn’t attend a lot of college house parties, but he’s pretty sure turning down the offer of a drink is house party etiquette for _definitely not interested,_ so there’s nothing left to do but move away with wave and mumbled, ‘nice talking to you,’

He tries not to radiate awkwardness as he makes his way to the kitchen, stepping over empty solo cups and streamers and ducking under one very enthusiastic fake cobweb stretched across the hallway. Probably he fails.

In the kitchen, he walks right past the keg sitting in a plastic kiddie pool without a second glance and heads straight for the fridge, because he knows how Jeonghan operates. As expected, the good stuff’s right at the back, hiding behind a bag of sad looking baby carrots and two industrial-sized tubs of dip.

Jihoon feels all the bottles up, searching for the coldest one, then nudges the fridge shut with his free hand and—HOLY CHIRST ON A BIKE!

Seungcheol’s standing right behind the door, appearing so swiftly and suddenly, like a cheap jump-scare out of a horror movie.

Jihoon reels back, flailing spectacularly, and knocks his elbow hard off the counter. The beer bottle slips out of his hand and he winces instinctively, anticipating the lecture from Jisoo and the mess of glass he’ll be forced to clean up. But between one blink and the next, the bottle has somehow made it to _Seungcheol’s_ hand, and he’s holding it out for Jihoon to take.

“Sorry,” Seungcheol ducks his head, sheepish, “I didn’t mean to scare you again.”

“Huh?” Jihoon blinks, a little caught up staring between Seungcheol and the bottle that should be in shards across the tiles right now. Either he imagined dropping it, or Seungcheol has _really_ impressive reflexes, and caught it a split-second before it hit the ground.

Weird.

Seungcheol smiles softly, eyes cast down at the scuffed toes of his sneakers. “You ran away before I could talk to you. I could smell you were scared, but I wasn’t going to hurt you. I was just curious about you.”

The _‘What the hell are you talking about?’_ dies on Jihoon’s lips when someone shoulders past them, doubles over the sink and begins to spew their guts out. 

“Eww, gross. Couldn’t you make it to the bathroom?” Jihoon recoils in disgust.

The sight and sound of someone retching less than a foot away isn’t exactly conducive to a meaningful conversation. Or any conversation for that matter. So Jihoon abandons his beer on the counter and slips out of the kitchen to find a quieter, more sanitary corner to talk.

He doesn’t exactly beckon Seungcheol to follow, but when he stops in a relatively empty corridor, he finds the guy _looming_ behind him—looking as cheerful as can be, though very much in his personal space. 

Jihoon means to call him out for that, but somehow he’s too busy noticing that Seungcheol’s eyes seem to be two colours at the same time; switching from a deep, blood red to something closer to gooey, chocolate brown as he passes in and out of shadow.

It’s a little mesmerising if he’s being honest.

Hypnotic, almost.

“Uhm, sorry, what were we talking about?” Jihoon asks, having completely lost his previous train of thought.

Seungcheol half-smiles, looks away, and then smiles again before taking a step closer. “I was just saying...I think you smell really good.”

Jihoon feels his face scrunch up in a way that's probably thoroughly unattractive. He’s having a hard time believing that, because despite his best efforts, he’s pretty sure everything he owns smells like weed and Lynx Africa, the ubiquitous smell of the college dorm.

“Uh, _really_?”

Seungcheol nods, but just to drive the point home, the dude leans in and _sniffs_ him, breathes him in, nostrils flaring. “Really, _really_ good,” He breathes, making a satisfied noise low in his throat.

Then he actually starts to _nuzzle_ Jihoon, rubbing his head against his neck, butting it softly against Jihoon’s shoulder and underneath his jaw. Jihoon stands stock still as goosebumps explode all down his neck and has no idea what to do with _any_ of this. Maybe if Seungcheol was more grabby and frantic about it, Jihoon’s fight or flight instinct would have kicked in to shove him away. But this entire moment, this gesture…

It’s weirdly like being kissed, only _different_. More intimate somehow.

Sort of _sweet_ , even.

Then Jihoon feels the subtle brush of warm lips against the tender skin of his neck, a gentle tug of teeth at his earlobe and oh— _oh_. He groans out loud, brash and manly as heat uncoils in his stomach, making the slow trip south. Okay, so, it’s really more of a whimper—a desperate, humiliating, mewling little noise even.

But yeah, whatever. Seungcheol seems to like it.

He hums appreciatively and pulls back to meet Jihoon’s eyes. “So listen…I don’t know if you had plans for the evening, but I was kind of hoping we could roll around in the grass together and play with my ball. Then maybe, if you’re okay with it, you’d let me lick you all over? I would really like that.”

Jihoon’s jaw drops, and his throat goes instantly dry.

Okay, wow. So much for _definitely not interested_. Seungcheol’s clearly _very_ interested, and shockingly forward about it too, judging by the weird nuzzling and the way his eyes keep darting down to Jihoon’s mouth, like he’s thinking about kissing him.

Jihoon’s pretty shocked at how difficult he is finding it to resist the obvious invitation.

He quite treasures his inhibitions, and for good reason. They keep him first and foremost from punching approximately 89% of the people he meets; but they also keep him from doing a myriad of slightly less impulsive and stupid things—primary among them is jumping the first hot guy that looks at him twice.

But now Seungcheol’s doing the nuzzling thing again, and mouthing enthusiastically, though not without skill, at the side of Jihoon's neck and honestly, Jihoon can’t help himself. He _snaps_ —grabs Seungcheol’s face and pushes their mouths together, messy and forceful and demanding.

At first, it’s awkward as hell, because Seungcheol’s unresponsive; holding himself very, very still, like he’s afraid he’s going to scare Jihoon off with any sudden movements. But then Jihoon gets his fingers in Seungcheol’s shock of dark hair and tugs down, and Seungcheol’s breath explodes outward with relief.

Suddenly _Jihoon’s_ the one being kissed, feeling Seungcheol’s strong fingers pressing wide and hungry over his back, his ass, dragging him closer. If there’s a place where their bodies aren’t touching now then Jihoon can’t tell; all he’s aware of is Seungcheol’s mouth, harsh and hot and needy against his, his impressive bulk, hiding him from everyone's line of vision, and his fiercely sharp canines, which are a bit unexpected, but Jihoon quickly figures out that he’s _totally okay with that_.

He just winds his fingers deeper into Seungcheol’s hair and bites at his lip in return, rewarded when Seungcheol groans and backs him up against the wall, wedging a denim-clad knee between his thighs.

For a heated moment, Seungcheol’s touching him in all the right places, grinding against him like they're fucking with their clothes on, and Jihoon’s giddily thinking that this is the kind of clichéd college experience he never gets to have—ravaged by a total stranger at a house party—when Seungcheol breaks away, panting harshly.

“W-wait, this is going a lot faster than I expected. I haven’t even hunted anything for you yet. Don’t you want a rabbit or something?”

Jihoon’s brain stutters to a complete stop, because _what the hell?_

“Er, rabbit?”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol nods, grinning, “I feel like I should get you something. Something you’d like. I don’t have much, but I do know a place with lots of rabbits. You—you like rabbits, don’t you? What am I saying, of course you like rabbits. Everyone loves rabbits. They’re del—”

“Dude, I don’t need you to butter me up with gifts,” Jihoon cuts in, panting and laughing, “If you can’t already tell, I’m totally on board with this.”

Seungcheol opens his mouth, looking ready to extol the virtues of rabbits some more, so Jihoon figures the only way to convince him is to fit a hand between the two of them, cup Seungcheol’s crotch and rub in slow, determined circles.

It works, thank fuck.

Seungcheol growls and licks into Jihoon's mouth, and they’re right back on track.

The kissing ratchets up several notches, past torrid, closing in on frantic, and there is panting and sweating and some rather clumsy pawing at one another that Jihoon thinks might possibly be the best thing ever, until he decides that, okay— _okay_ , they should probably take this somewhere else.

The hallway may be fairly secluded, and the music may be too loud for anyone to hear them, but it’s still far too exposed for Jihoon’s liking, and Jeonghan will never let him live it down if anyone catches them like this.

Mind made up, he drags Seungcheol into the bathroom and locks the door behind him, presses him up against it as he undoes the cool metal of his belt.

Popping the button at the top of his jeans, he’s expecting a frustrating moment of fumbling while he gets Seungcheol’s boxers out of the way, only to makes a deeply curious noise when he gets two fingers past Seungcheol’s fly and meets only skin.

“Really? No underwear?” Jihoon smirks, his voice a soft huff of laughter. “I mean, I’m not wearing any either, but these shorts don’t exactly allow for it. What’s your excuse?”

“It didn’t feel right taking _all_ the guy’s clothes.” Seungcheol grumbles, jerking his fly the rest of the way down with impatient hands, clearly agitated beyond the point of fine motor control.

It’s probably not fair to tease him right now, so Jihoon helps him shove his jeans down the rest of the way, jolting back in surprise when Seungcheol’s dick springs free. 

Jihoon pants, shallow, and tries another laugh but doesn’t quite manage it because…wow.

He’s seen a few dicks in his day, but never one quite this big that’s _not_ featured in a porno. It’s — it’s a nice dick though, as dicks go, Jihoon thinks fuzzily. It’s thick at the base and curves up a little. It’s hard, too, and as Jihoon gets his hand around it and starts stroking, it flexes a little and gets _harder_ , slickening with the first rush of precome.

Jihoon shifts his weight from one foot to the other, half deliberating, half talking himself out of it, but mostly just aware of his own hardness chafing up against the fabric of his shorts. He honestly wasn’t aiming for anything more than a mutual hand job tonight, but taking in the sight of Seungcheol’s dick—red and hard and leaking as he makes tiny involuntary jerky thrusts into Jihoon’s loose fist—he knows he won’t be happy till he’s stretched around it.

“Okay, so, uhm—change of plan. You’re going to fuck me.” He says, not really making it a question.

He doesn’t really expect a response anyway. Or at least, not a _coherent_ one. Seungcheol’s kind of blissed out right now, looking at him with that stupid unfocused look guys get when they’re really literally mind-numbingly hard — sort of tender and dim-witted and heated all at once.

He does get a nod though, and then Seungcheol’s backing him against the sink and kissing him again, slipping his hand down the narrow gap at the back of Jihoon’s shorts to grab at his ass.

“Woah, hey—” Jihoon laughs against his mouth, shaking himself a little to get out of his own tender-dimwitted-heated trance. “I gotta prep first though. It’s uhm, well, it’s been a while honestly, and that’s not exactly a starter pistol you’re packing.”

Jihoon finds a box of condoms in one of the bathroom cabinets. Thank you, Universe. Fishes a foil out and tosses it at Seungcheol as he wriggles his shorts down, trying not to think too hard about how ridiculous he must look. He’s rummaging around for lube when a frustrated snarl draws his attention back to Seungcheol.

Seungcheol who’s frowning down at his dick, which now has a mostly-rolled condom perched on its head like a jaunty beret.

“Something wrong?” Jihoon asks, palming a tube of Astroglide.

Seungcheol just scratches his head and breathes out, slowly, and if he's trying to work through a problem in his head, and not coming up with any answers.

When he just ends up just staring at his dick stupidly for a minute, Jihoon takes over and rolls the condom the rest of the way down. Gives the base of Seungcheol’s cock an affectionate squeeze.

It only occurs to him, when he’s shoving two fingers into himself, slick with a metric ton of lube, that maybe he should check:

“Hold up—are you a virgin?”

That seems to confuse Seungcheol even more, or maybe that’s just his offended face. Regardless, the answer is a categoric _no_ , and Jihoon is beginning to suspect Seungcheol’s charming naivete might well be the biggest hustle going because when they get down to it, Seungcheol is a pro—a fucking _pro_.

Seungcheol fucks him over the bathroom counter, his ankles by his ears, hair falling into his eyes, cock bobbing wet and obscene and untouched between them. It's the filthiest, roughest sex Jihoon’s ever had—but fuck if it isn’t the best. Seungcheol is giving it to him smooth and athletic and hard, the sort of expert sweet fucking that Jihoon always aspires to provide when he’s the one on top.

 _Maybe next time_ —He tells himself, reveling in the glorious ache of being stretched and filled. 

The bathroom’s small and overly warm, and Seungcheol’s animalistic grunts rumble through him on every thrust, adding an extra touch of sensation. Jihoon claws at the sinks, smearing his fingerprints on the mirror, hanging his head to his chest while Seungcheol thrusts into him roughly, going fast, hard, faster, harder.

The only direction Seungcheol needs comes when Jihoon hisses out, “Ow, ow, something’s digging into my back,” and he graciously changes positions, hoisting Jihoon up off the sink to wrap his legs around his waist.

Jihoon expects to be pressed against the wall or the door before Seungcheol resumes thrusting, but the guy just hooks his hands under Jihoon’s thighs and drives in again, fucking Jihoon upright in the middle of the jaundice lit bathroom like he weighs nothing.

Like this, at this angle, every thrust feels just so much _deeper_. So deep Jihoon could swear Seungcheol’s dick is driving up into the muscular underside of his diaphragm, slowly and inexorably stealing his ability to breathe.

Jihoon throws his head back and does his best not to howl. But it doesn’t take long before he’s clawing at Seungcheol’s shoulders and gasping, “Oh fuck, of fuck, I’m gonna—”

He gets a hand between their chests and around his dick before he can make a mess of Seungcheol’s shirt, rides out his orgasm as Seungcheol fucks into him a handful more times then stills with a muffled shout.

Jihoon goes limp in his arms, shaky and dizzy and noodly, and listens to the mingled sounds of their panting breaths, the sound of the party filtering back in, slowly, over the roar of his heartbeat. He might fall asleep for a few minutes because, fuck—nothing like an incredible orgasm to make you unbelievably light-headed.

When he finally summons the energy to move his limbs, he finds himself sprawled shamelessly on the counter, dripping with sweat and come and in some places spit, flushed and heated and delirious with orgasm. His T-shirt has hiked up again, and his shorts are hanging off the toe of one shoe.

In contrast, Seungcheol’s hovering over him, looking unfairly composed. Sure, his is colour high, and his pupils are dilated, and his hair is a mess, but he’s grinning and—seriously? Not even a _little_ out of breath?

Jihoon’s body feels like it’s just run a fucking marathon, but here’s Seungcheol, looking for all the world like he’s absolutely up for a second round. Jihoon can’t fathom how he has _still_ has so much energy, and says as much.

Seungcheol just shrugs, “Werewolf.”

“ _Right_.” Jihoon snorts, pushing himself up on his elbows. 

He starts getting himself together before he's even stopped floating, washing his hands and yanking up his shorts, and not a second too soon; he’s just splashing water on his face when someone starts banging at the bathroom door, telling them to hurry the fuck up.

Jihoon ignores them in favour of fixing his hair in the mirror, trying to make himself look less fucked out.

It’s a lost cause. His expression fairly screams: "I just had sex."

Scratch that.

It’s actually his “I just had awesome sex” face. He just didn’t recognise it because he doesn’t get to see it that often. That’s what happens when you’re on the receiving end of too much lacklustre sex—you start to forget how really good sex can make you feel. Seungcheol just reminded him, and Jihoon’s totally going to get his number because this _has_ to happen again.

This has to—

“Hey, uhm, what am I supposed to do with this?” Seungcheol taps him on the shoulder, and Jihoon turns around to find him holding up the—oh _god_.

He’s holding up the _used_ condom, twirling it in the air like it a fucking lasso. 

Jihoon can’t decide if he’s more amused or appalled or embarrassed. He settles for an unsettling mix of all three.

“Er, tie it off? Toss it in the trash?”

“Right. Yes.” Seungcheol nods, doing just that. Albeit slowly, like he thinks he’s doing it wrong and expects Jihoon to instruct him otherwise. He tucks himself away next, then moves to the sink to wash his hands, seemingly on automatic, only to freeze with his hands all sudded up, like he’s suddenly forgotten what he’s supposed to do.

He stares at his soapy hands for a confusing span of seconds, then at Jihoon, for clarification apparently.

“Wait, are you _high_ right now? Have you been high this whole time?” Jihoon gasps, reading the way too dopey expression on Seungcheol’s face.

“High?” Seungcheol echos, grinning at him. He pauses, scrunching up his face in thought. “I don’t know what you mean, I’ve always been this tall.”

Jihoon’s stomach bottoms out.

He doesn’t know why he’s so shocked. The signs were there, after all, they were always _there_ —Jihoon just chose to overlook them, to focus on the more aesthetically pleasing qualities Seungcheol brought to the table. Now that he's breaking out of his post-coital lassitude, there’s really no ignoring it anymore.

Seungcheol’s… a _Himbo_.

* * *

“ _See_ , I told you that costume would bring you nothing but good luck. You can thank me later.” Jeonghan winks from his spot across the little bonfire.

Jihoon stops spearing marshmallows on his roasting stick in favour of throwing one at his head.

“Have you heard anything I just said?

Jeonghan just shrugs, “So he’s a himbo. He showed you a good time, didn’t he? And honestly Jihoonie, if you only plan on sleeping with guys that are your intellectual equivalent, you’ll end up growing back your virginity. Sometimes you just gotta tussle with the jock himbo and his big dick.”

Jihoon opens his mouth to protest, only to snap it shut again. “Wait, how did you know he has a big dick?”

“We could hear you screaming over the music Jihoon.” Wonwoo tells him, with an aggressive absence of inflection.

“Yeah, why do you think we’re all hanging out in the garden?” Seungkwan cuts in, sharp as ever.

Jihoon feels himself flush right down to his toes.

What a mortifying conclusion to his evening. He should never have come out tonight.

Jeonghan apparently senses that he might be about to emote, or throw himself in the bonfire, because he waves him off abruptly. “Look, who even cares? It’s not like you guys are in the same classes and have to _see_ each other every day. It was just sex, right?”

“Right,” Jihoon agrees quickly, before anyone can look into it too deeply and accuse him of thinking otherwise. Saying absolutely anything else in this situation feels far too much like to an overly-maudlin admission of loneliness.

Which is just—nope.

Jihoon isn't lonely. Often alone, yes, but not _lonely_. There's a difference.

“I guess it’s a good thing he was a little dim,” Jihoon adds, swallowing his thoughts, “It just means he’s probably already forgotten my name. In fact, he’s probably inside, hitting on someone else right now.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Wonwoo responds, lifting his eyebrows.

Jihoon follows his gaze to the back porch, where Seungcheol has suddenly appeared and is scanning the crowd, hands fidgeting anxiously at his sides.

Jihoon dips his head quickly before they can make eye contact, but he can still _feel_ Seungcheol’s gaze settle on him, like a weird keyed up sixth sense. Even from this distance, even across the garden and with a giant bonfire in between them, he can feel Seungcheol’s eyes cutting away and then returning to him, and then doing it again. Like he knows Jihoon's there and he wants to come closer, but he's afraid to approach for some reason.

“Aww,” Seungkwan whispers, nudging Jihoon playfully, “I think he’s nervous that we’re all sitting around you. Let’s give them some space you guys.”

“No, wait—don’t leave me!” Jihoon hisses, trying to latch on to Seungkwan’s sleeve.

But they’re traitors, the lot of them, and quickly scatter, leaving ample room for Seungcheol to plop himself down next to Jihoon on the grass.

Jihoon bites back a snarl and pinches the bridge of his nose, his muscles tensing under the urge not to wiggle away as Seungcheol presses his nose under his ear and sighs, happily.

“Please tell me you figured out how to wash your hands.”

Seungcheol leans back to blink and him and nods, very seriously. “Yes. I remember now. I wash them and then dry them. On a towel. But I couldn’t find a towel. So I dried them on the—” He makes a vague wavy gesture with his hands, like he can’t quite find the word. Finally, he just settles for, “Wall towels.”

“Good for you—wait, what? Wall towels?”

“Yep, the two…towel… _things_ hanging on the…the window?” Seungcheol says slowly, like every step of that has been a new thing he’s _learned_.

Jihoon squints at him.

“You mean the _curtains_?”

“Yes, curtains! That’s the word. Curtains!” Seungcheol points, waves his finger, very excited to have learned a new word.

Jihoon can only stare at him. It’s possible that Seungcheol is even _dimmer_ than he thought.

“Please tell me you’re smoking something. No, wait, just tell me what you’re smoking—so I know _never_ to smoke it.”

Seungcheol looks bewildered for all of five seconds, before he spots the Jumbo bag of marshmallows on the ground and practically jumps for joy.

“Ooh, I know what those are. They’re marshmallows. Can I have some?”

Jihoon takes his roasted marshmallow spit out of the fire and gets to his feet. “Here, just, take mine.”

* * *

Jihoon’s no stranger to the concept of a college party hook-up. It’s not something he frequently engages in, but he can certainly see the appeal of a little meaningless fun with a person you don’t have to make excruciating small talk with after. When everything goes to plan—or lack thereof—you both have fun and go your separate ways and there are no witnesses around to remind you of the embarrassing details later. Seungcheol doesn’t seem to subscribe to this concept at all however, because the _going your separate ways_ thing does not seem to be _happening_.

Even though Jihoon’s making it painfully clear their fun is over, with his chilly silences and his scowls and long-suffering slow blinks, the guy’s still chasing his heels, like a giant, faithful puppy. He follows Jihoon from room to room, hanging back as Jihoon chats with his friends and hovering at the side lines with a big hopeful look on his face. If Jihoon deigns to look his way, he lights up with a huge grin and….wags his tail. And…sigh.

Just… _sigh._

Why can’t he just take a hint? How stupid do you have to be not to see the writing on the wall?

Jihoon ignores him as best he can, even contemplates locking himself in the bathroom and playing on his phone until the guy leaves. But Seungcheol’s kind of so stupidly earnest that if Jihoon shut the door on him, he would probably just stand there looking moronically hopeful until it opened again.

Eventually Jihoon accepts a joint from a guy in his class and resolves to get so pleasantly buzzed he’ll cease to give a shit. Most of the party-goers are moving out to the backyard to light fireworks anyway, so Jihoon follows them out to bum a light and maybe enjoy the view. 

He’s just lighting his joint as the first firework goes squealing into the air, and suddenly Seungcheol’s _there_ , wrapping his arms around him and throwing them both into the nearest hedge.

“What the hell!”

“Stay down.” Seungcheol hisses, doing a marvellous impression of a cornered animal—all fierce eyes and tensed spine.

Jihoon doesn’t even bother to hold his tongue, because this – this right here – is the final straw.

“Get off me idiot,” He snaps, shoving at Seungcheol chest, then punching him for good measure. 

The punch seems to have little effect on Seungcheol, but the yelling, the yelling definitely gets his attention.

Seungcheol lets out a whine, something soft and hurt, even manages to flatten his ears against his hair and stop his tail from wagging, which— _seriously_? Jihoon would still _love_ to know how he’s doing that without moving his hands too obviously. It must take some serious special effects know-how to conceal the wires he needs to make the gesture so seamless.

Jihoon is, privately, a little impressed.

Only privately mind you.

Outwardly, he’s still scowling for Korea.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I was trying to protect you—” Seungcheol begins, with a wounded misunderstood tone. “I heard danger. I heard a _gun_.”

Jihoon squints at him as the fireworks continue to burst overhead—watching as each pop and crackle makes Seungcheol visibly flinch. 

“It’s not a gun dumbass, it’s just the firework display.”

Seungcheol’s hands, which had been twining with nervous energy, fall suddenly still. He looks up at the sky slowly, seemingly lost in thought, then looks down at Jihoon and smiles faintly, “I’m sorry. I thought you were in danger. I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

Jihoon's anger slips sideways, despite his best efforts to hang on to it.

“Forget it,” He shoves Seungcheol back further off with an impatient huff and scrambles to his feet.

He’s dusting himself down, picking leaves out of his hair, when he glances up and finds Seungcheol nowhere in sight.

There’s a shit load of people gathered in the back garden, watching the display, a dozen more packed on the patio, but the giant doofus isn’t amongst them.

Feeling a strange hollow tendril of guilt curling low in his belly, Jihoon marches around to the front of the house, just in time to catch sight of the back of Seungcheol’s jacket, already half-way down the block.

The guy seems to be heading towards the back entrance of the park, head bent low and shoulders slumped, which is probably what compels Jihoon to jog to catch up with him and call out, “Hey, Seungcheol—wait.”

Seungcheol stops dead, then slowly turns to face him, and Jihoon halts reflexively, leaving about ten feet of damp, leafy pavement between them. He doesn’t really expect Seungcheol to start yelling or throwing punches—but a punch would have been preferable to the super sad _puppy eyes_ Seungcheol levels his way instead.

A punch would probably have been less painful to endure, and Jihoon actually has to shield his face as he asks, “Where—where are you going?”

“Back to my home.” Seungcheol says, with a solemn kind of disappointment that would be hilarious if it weren’t so earnest.

Jihoon frowns, “Why? Are you scared of fireworks or something?”

“No,” Seungcheol says, very, very softly, like his voice is caught up in his throat, “But you _yelled_ at me, and you said I was dumb. I guess that means you don’t like me very much, and you don’t want to be my friend, so I thought I should leave you alone.”

 _Oh god_ —Jihoon cringes internally, hiding his face in his hands.

Usually if someone hurts his feelings, he doesn’t tell them about it. He just layers on thick levels of passive aggression for a few days until they get the hint and if they have the decency, they’ll approach him with a _‘hey, I hope I didn’t offend you when I said xyz?’_ and he’ll just smile and wave them off, be cold with them for a few weeks before _slowly_ forgiving them.

But Seungcheol, oh God. There is something in Seungcheol’s voice that's so cracked open and unexpectedly honest, Jihoon can’t help but crumble. His _‘you yelled and made me sad’_ speech, is a hundred times more effective than any passive aggression Jihoon could ever conjure, and his kicked puppy face is actually, _actually_ painful to look at.

Jihoon doesn’t think he’s ever felt like _this_ much of an asshole.

“Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you—” He begins, dragging his hands away from his face to look Seungcheol in the eye.

He has this whole speech planned in his head, heavily borrowing from the whole ‘Shrek’ onion metaphor, about how he has layers and how he struggles to peel them back around certain people, and sometimes he comes off as tsundere when he really isn’t trying to be. But ultimately how he’s sorry he dismissed Seungcheol so quickly, and called him stupid, and that he does like him, really, even if he is hella weird. Also the sex was A++, so could they start over?

Except he doesn’t get to say any of that because Seungcheol just steps into his space after one sentence and says, “Okay, I forgive you.”

“What?” Jihoon flails, “Just like that?”

Seungcheol nods, then he smiles a smile that is baring so many teeth it should be terrifying but is somehow stupidly adorable instead.

“Okay, cool. Uhh… great.” Jihoon says haltingly, more than a little perturbed he’s getting off so lightly. Apologies are never this easy in his experience; there’s a distinct, bitter after taste of humiliation that should be kicking in right about now but is weirdly absent. 

It feels kind of… _nice_ , actually.

“So,” he starts, wetting his lips anxiously before attempting, “You wanna get out of here?”

Seungcheol’s soul destroying puppy eyes, somehow, become even wider. _How_.

“Okay, I’ll go.” He murmurs, sadly, and starts to turn away again.

Jihoon has never flailed so hard in his life.

It’s embarrassing how much flailing Seungcheol’s making him do today.

“No, no—I don’t mean _you_ get out of here, I mean lets get out of here _together_. My dorms not that far away. We could go there and chill, order Pizza or something. You know, if you like.”

“Oh, okay. That sounds like fun,” Seungcheol grins again, and this time his smile is so bright and infectious, Jihoon can't help but mirror it.

* * *

Jihoon takes Seungcheol the long way home, through the neighbourhoods around the periphery of the park, because he has absolutely no intention of traipsing through _that_ nightmare again. Hell no. Though he’s pretty sure Seungcheol is more than match for any monsters they might come across in the woods, with his massive biceps and shockingly effective puppy eyes.

Besides, the longer walk gives them time to chat and get to know Seungcheol a little better, before he’s permitted entry to the private sanctuary of Jihoon’s dorm room.

Not that Seungcheol’s much of a conversationalist of course; he’s more of a listener than a talker, which Jihoon normally appreciates in a guy. Except Seungcheol is also more of a _growler_ than a listener.

No really—Seungcheol _growls_ at everything. Literally everything. Every car that cruises by, every person in and out of costume, every fire hydrant they pass. Make that _especially_ every fire hydrant they pass. He growls at fire hydrants like they’ve always had it out for him in some way. Jihoon is careful not to give him weird looks, because he personally has a deep abiding, sometimes irrational hatred of people who order Vanilla ice-cream at Baskin Robins when they could have absolutely any other flavour, which earns him his fair share of weird looks, so he’s trying not to judge.

And anyway, Seungcheol really _is_ a good listener, and he asks some very strange but insightful questions, when he’s not growling or sniffing the air or stopping at every third tree to say “I think there’s a squirrel up there”.

“We’re near the park Cheol, there’s probably squirrels in _every_ tree.” Jihoon offers, after the tenth time this happens. Not impatiently, mind you, just trying to be insightful in turn. Only this leaves Seungcheol looking deeply unsettled, like he’s troubled by the sheer number of squirrels this information suggests.

Oh, and now he’s _growling_ at the trees too.

Great. Just great.

It’s going to take them approximately thirty thousand years to get back to Jihoon’s dorm at this rate.

“Will you just come along already,” Jihoon huffs, taking hold of Seungcheol’s hand to drag him away from someone’s front yard before they call the cops.

That seems to do the trick; the second Jihoon interlocks their fingers, the growling cuts off and Seungcheol allows himself to be led away quietly, now staring down at their interlocked hands with a dopey smile on his face.

If Jihoon knew that’s all it would take, he would have held the guys hand ages ago.

They make it almost two thirds of the way there, before Seungcheol pulls them to a sudden stop outside a non-descript house and _glares_ at it, like perhaps he thinks that’s where the Mayor of Squirrel-Ville _lives_ or something.

Jihoon pulls a breath through his nose and breathes out slowly, thinking zen thoughts, “What’s wrong now Cheol? I promise you there’s no squirrels in there.” he says, contemplating the Nobel Peace Prize he deserves for such a display of patience.

Seungcheol darts him a look, relieved and anxious all at once, and tightens his grip on his hand a little.

“I—I know this place. I’ve been here before, I think.”

Frowning, Jihoon cranes his neck to get a closer look at the house in question.

At first, it just looks like every other house on the block—generic two-story brick building with white columns, neat green lawn, and four jack-o-lanterns glowing merrily on the front porch.

He’s pretty sure he’s walked past it a thousand times on his way to Jeonghan’s place and it’s never before caught his attention, but now that he’s standing on the lawn, staring up at it, it does strike him as familiar.

“Oh, wait—” He says, noticing the faded ΑΨ numerals painted over the front door, “That’s the old Alpha-Psi chapter house. It’s one of the pictures they print on the front of the college brochure, even though the fraternity was dissolved years ago. That’s probably why.”

Seungcheol chuffs something, seemingly agreeing, but a little line near his mouth tells Jihoon he isn't completely sure of his answer.

* * *

Jihoon’s never been self-conscious about inviting guys back to his room, it’s just not something he _does_. He’s always liked his own space, and ever since his roommate moved out and nobody else moved in, he’s become even more guarded over who he allows in it.

Only a handful of people have visitation rights to what has been affectionately dubbed ‘The Universe Factory’, and Seungcheol at least, seems to appreciate what a huge honour it is to be granted access.

He spends the first five minutes just standing by the door, gaping, like it’s the coolest place he’s ever step foot in, shitty heating and bizarre collectibles and all.

“Wow, this place is amazing, and it _smells_ like you. Is this your place of rest?” He finally asks, voice laced with surprise and wonder.

“Yeah, this is my dorm room. My roommate dropped out after the first semester, so it’s just me here. Make yourself comfortable, I’m just going to go change,” Jihoon tells him, gesturing to the room at large as he grabs a spare change of clothes and pads into the en-suite.

He hopes Seungcheol will take that as his cue to kick back and relax, to stop worrying about the local squirrel population and maybe do the world a favour and take his shirt off. When he pads back into the room a few minutes later, he finds the guy hunkered up near the edge of his desk, massive shoulders blocking the view of his laptop.

Jihoon approaches the desk on quiet feet because, oh shit, what’s Seungcheol _doing_? Is he streaming hardcore porn? Accessing the Dark Web? Sending all Jihoon’s risqué private photographs to his frat buddies and trolling all his social media accounts and deleting his carefully assembled playlists?

No, none of that, apparently. 

He’s just watching the screensaver dance across the screen with super intense focus.

The serious knit of his brow is almost comical; he looks like a child learning to read, trying to puzzle out a new series of words or a certain turn of phrase. Jihoon watches him for a moment, then slowly reaches for his phone and orders Pizza, grateful for the distraction from the jolt of fondness that shoots through him.

Seungcheol is weird, there’s no two ways about it. But he’s also like… ridiculously adorable?

“Any preference on toppings?” Jihoon asks, waiting for the Pizza place to pick up. 

No answer. The screensaver has _all_ of Seungcheol’s focus.

“I like extra pepperoni and no mushrooms.” Jihoon tries again, because he’s genuinely worried about how close Seungcheol is to his laptop screen. That can’t be good for his eyeballs. Or the laptop screen for that matter.

Again, there is no answer from Seungcheol. Jihoon might as well not even be in the room.

“How do you feel about pineapple on pizza?”

“Gross.” Seungcheol _is_ quick to answer this time, and thank _god_.

He’s human. He’s a normal person with normal person tastes. Jihoon has proof.

Placing their order—an extra-large, stuffed crust pepperoni—Jihoon hangs up and clears his throat. Loudly.

He’s hoping that will be enough to draw Seungcheol’s attention, but nope—seems like he has no choice but to reach forward and ruin the guy’s fun. He wiggles the mouse and is satisfied when Seungcheol jerk backwards, breaking out of his hypnotic trance with a huffy, “Hey, where did the dancing worm go?”

Jihoon carefully supresses a smile, “It’s gone. And won’t be back for at least ten minutes. Longer, if I change the settings. Guess you’ll have to pay attention to me now.”

Seungcheol turns to look at him, sees him, and just... _stares_ at him. With slowly widening eyes.

“W-why are you looking at me like that?” Jihoon asks, deeply uneasy all of a sudden.

But Seungcheol’s look doesn’t change, only intensifies.

“Where did your ears go? And your tail?”

“Uh, in the bathroom? I took them off.”

Seungcheol looks vaguely astonished by that. “You _took_ them off? But how? How can you just _do_ that?”

Now it’s Jihoon’s turn to stare.

He looks at Seungcheol carefully, at the deep red of his eyes, the breadth of his shoulders, the weird scar on his neck in the shape of a bite. He looks at his tail swaying behind him, the dark wolf ears poking up from the unruly tufts of matching hair, looks at how he’s wearing both so _naturally_ and comes to a horrifying conclusion.

“Oh my god, you’re a _furry_.”

Seungcheol blinks twice, his intense gaze finally breaking away, “Huh?”

“You are, aren’t you. You’re a _furry_. That’s why you were so into me, cause of the slutty cat outfit? You thought I was a furry too, didn’t you?”

Seungcheol takes a breath, and his expression shifts slightly, a little less bewildered and a little more like he is mulling over the possibilities.

“I _guess_. I mean, I _do_ get very furry all over sometimes. Especially when there’s a full moon.”

Jihoon drops his head into his hands and thinks, _why does it always have to be the hot ones? Why are the hot guys always into the weird, wacky shit?_

“Well I’m not okay—I’m not a furry. The slutty cat outfit was just for Halloween, and it wasn’t even my choice. I lost a bet with my friend Hannie and he forced me to wear it. I don’t go around dressing like a kitten all the time. So if that’s what you’re in to, if that’s what you’re expecting from me, I’m sorry, but I’m not in to that.”

“Oh,” says Seungcheol miserably, sticking one hand in his hair and sighing. “Does this mean you don’t want to be my friend anymore?”

Jihoon double-takes. 

“What? No, no, I’m not saying that at all. Of course, we can still be friends.”

Seungcheol’s staring at the floor now, but his wolf ears perk up tentatively, in a ‘I’m listening’ sort of way.

“I just think it’s important to be open with our expectations before this goes any further,” Jihoon tries, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, “I’m not a furry, and I’m not into furry stuff, but you clearly are and, hey—good for you. If you wanna dress up like a wolf, sniff people and howl at the moon and stuff—as long as you’re not hurting anyone, you should be allowed to do what you like. I’m not going to judge you for it, even if it’s not my thing.”

Seungcheol chews his lip for a moment before answering. “It’s not that I _like_ being a werewolf—it’s just who I am now.”

Jihoon tips his face just a little, stares at the line of Seungcheol’s jaw. “But if you don’t _like_ being a furry, why don’t you just stop?”

He watches Seungcheol’s Adam’s apple bob hard as he swallows.

“I wish I could Jihoon, I really do. I’ve tried really hard to just be normal and not be a werewolf, but then I see the moon and get all wolfy anyway. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to control that side of myself. That’s why I stay away from people most of the time—it’s why I forget so many things, forget how to be normal. I haven’t been around other people in a long time, but then when I smelled you, and saw that you had ears and a tail, I thought you were like me—that’s why I followed you to that house. I wanted to be your friend,” Seungcheol murmurs softly. Then, with a disarming upwards flicker of red eyes, he adds, “I guess I was tired of being alone.”

Jihoon bites his lip, surprised to feel a lump rising in his throat.

Reaching over he takes one of Seungcheol’s hands, gripping it tightly. “You’re not alone though. Even if you never met me and we weren’t friends, there’s a lot of furries out there.”

Seungcheol’s face lights up with a cautious kind of hope. “Really? Where?”

He sounds like a child who wants something too much, and it’s almost painful for Jihoon to hear.

“Oh, everywhere really, they’re all over the internet. I can’t scroll through twitter without finding out way too much info about someone’s _fursona_. You’re probably just looking in the wrong forums or something. Have you got Tumblr? You _must_ have Tumblr; that’s like a _den_ for furry activity.”

Brows pinches, Seungcheol circles his index finger in the air vaguely. 

“How do I get a…Tumbler?”

“What do you mean, _how_?” Jihoon half-laughs, disbelieving. “You just register for an account online, like you would twitter or Facebook or Instagram.”

Seungcheol’s face does something strange, as if he’s trying very hard to bite back a question. After a moment, he says blithely, “Not gonna lie Jihoon, I have no idea what any of those things are.”

Jihoon has to suppress the urge to laugh hysterically. “Seriously? Do you live in a _cave_ or something?”

“A cave?” Seungcheol laughs, loud and genuine and right from the gut. But just as quickly it begins to evaporate, “Uh, yeah. I _do_ actually.”

Jihoon frowns at him, hands planted on his hips. He finds himself torn, once again, between being annoyed and being amused, but before he can call Seungcheol out on this obvious _bullshit_ , his phone buzzes on the desk.

“Ooh, that’ll be the pizza.”

* * *

Seungcheol practically wolfs down his half of the pizza in record time, then proceeds to stare longingly at Jihoon’s half until Jihoon sighs and nudges a few extra slices over. Those get wolfed down too, as do the three cups of ramen and four bowls of cereal Jihoon cobbles together when it becomes apparent Seungcheol’s stomach is actually bottomless. Seriously, it’s like the guy hasn’t eaten in _days_ or something. Or maybe these athletic types all have a huge appetite and a hummingbird metabolism.

Jihoon wouldn’t know. He’s just glad he has dutiful parents and well stocked kitchen cupboards to raid.

Afterwards, they lounge on the bed with Jihoon’s laptop balanced between them, and Seungcheol stares intently as Jihoon scrolls through furry blogs on Tumblr and Reddit and yes, even _The Productive Wuff_ , just to teach Seungcheol the ways of his people.

On an incognito browser of course.

“See, what did I tell you. Furries—they’re everywhere.”

Seungcheol gives him a truly epic side-eye, like he can’t understand why Jihoon’s showing him clips of grown men in full fur suits crawling on the floor and barking. And like maybe he’s disturbed by it.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” Jihoon snaps, feeling his face heat up. “This is what _you’re_ into pal. I’m just showing you what’s out there.”

Seungcheol just shakes his head, “I’m not into this. This is disturbing.” He pokes at the screen, imploringly, looking exactly like the loveable neanderthal he is at heart. “Bring back the dancing worm.”

“Hey, you shouldn’t say that,” Jihoon levels him a disapproving look, ignoring the fact that the grown men on screen are now yipping over a Frisbee. “These people are just furries, like _you_. You shouldn’t judge them; you should feel kinship with your furry brethren.”

Seungcheol frowns at him, and Jihoon frowns back, equally confused by what came out of his own mouth. 

“I don’t think so,” Seungcheol says, a hint of petulance in his tone. “I’m not like these _furries_ —they’re weird. And I know you think _I’m_ weird, but I’d like to think I’m not _that_ weird.”

Jihoon lets out his breath impatiently, “Yeah, okay, maybe you don’t wear the full fur suit, but you’re wearing ears and a tail—that still _technically_ makes you a furry.”

Seungcheol makes a small, frustrated, possibly affronted, noise, “But I’m not _wearing_ anything—this is all part of me. I'm not dressing up like a werewolf, I _am_ one. I'm a real werewolf.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes, “Yes, yes, of course you are. And I’m sure these people feel exactly the same in their fur suits.”

Seungcheol huffs something irritated and tries to poke the screen again, no doubt hoping to summon the screensaver. He gets a smack on the hand for his efforts, which in turn makes him whine pitifully and nuzzle his face in Jihoon’s neck.

“Classic furry behaviour.” Jihoon titters, trying not to smile.

* * *

Halfway through a furry documentary titled ‘The Fandom’, Seungcheol falls asleep, winding tight around Jihoon in the small bed, the length of their bodies touching like there was never meant to be an inch of space between them.

Jihoon resolves to continue watching alone, because well, this furry shit is actually pretty fucking fascinating—but he soon finds it hard to focus with every little puff of breath against his skin, the way Seungcheol’s wolf ear is tickling his collarbone, the tender skin of his neck.

He has never been so aware of how much muscle is packed into Seungcheol's body: now, at least half of it is pinning him to the bed and numbing his extremities. Closing the laptop over, Jihoon shunts it to the side and curls back into Seungcheol’s warmth, inhaling the gentle scent of him – smoke, sun, and a distinct hint of something earthy and green – and thinks about how this isn’t how he had intended it to work out at all.

He’s spooning, in his bed, in his dorm, with a guy he met less than six hours ago, who openly admits to being a furry.

It’s a shock to realize how _okay_ he is with that.

Freeing his arm, Jihoon brings it up to capture the wolf ear nearest to him, intending to tug it out of Seungcheol’s hair. But it must be pinned very tightly, or even _woven_ into his hair because the damn thing just won’t come off, and a harder pull just makes Seungcheol yelp in pain. 

Jihoon gives up trying to yank it off and runs his hands over the base of one furry ear, tangling his fingers in the hair at the back of Seungcheol head to ascertain just what Seungcheol is using to keep those ears so firmly place. He can feel the gentle curve of skull, the articulation of veins beneath Seungcheol’s skin, but he can’t seem to determine where fur ends and hair begins; the transition is so seamless, like those wolf ears are actually protruding from Seungcheol’s flesh—which is—

Wow.

That’s some _amazing_ prosthetic work right there. Seungcheol’s wolf ears are a work of art. 10/10.

He may end up petting Seungcheol’s hair a little, so caught up in his wonder, which has Seungcheol making an unusual soft noise in his sleep. Something like a _purr_. He even starts butting his head into Jihoon’s palm when he stops, then sighs happily when Jihoon continues, rubbing gently behind his wolf ears.

It’s the most contented noise Jihoon has ever heard in his life. It does strange things to his guts, makes the space behind his ribcage feel too small.

* * *

Jihoon doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he wakes up, it’s past noon and the bedroom is a little too warm with the sun pouring through the uncurtained window. When he’s is done stretching and kicking at the sweaty covers, he sniffs at himself, testing, then wrinkling his nose in disgust when he smells mingled beer, sweat, and sex all over his skin. It’s definitely time for a shower. But first, he should probably ask Seungcheol if he…

Wait a minute…where _is_ Seungcheol?

Pushing himself upright in bed, Jihoon glances around the room for any sign of his visitor. He spots his shoes by the door exactly where he remembers stepping out of them, but Seungcheol’s are nowhere to be seen.

He’s gone, and Jihoon's gut clenches, annoyed by how, well, how _annoyed_ he is.

He can’t believe the guy just upped and bolted after everything. After Jihoon fed him most of his pizza and ¾ of his ramen stash. After he researched all that furry shit for him. After he pet him and let him nuzzle him and stare at his laptop screensaver into the wee hours of the night. After they practically _spooned_. No, not practically spooned—there was definite spooning going on. They spooned all night, and Jihoon _never_ lets anyone spoon him.

Seungcheol doesn’t seem to have left his number or address or anything, he just fucked off before Jihoon could wake up.

The jerk.

Jihoon stares at his bedroom ceiling for bit, mediating on his own stupidity, then rolls out of bed, deciding that it’s better not to dwell on being alone, or lonely, or feeling butthurt over a guy who clearly couldn’t give a shit. 

He’s half-way across the room when he spots something sitting new on his desk. A flash of red that inexplicably raises all the hair on the back of his neck.

He can’t for the life of him figure out why though—it’s just one of those squishy, bright red balls dogs play fetch with. A little chewed at the edges, which is gross, but ultimately non-sinister.

Still…he..he could swear he saw it somewhere before, though his brain draws a great big blank the longer he stares at it. 

There’s a scrap of paper folded under the ball too, and Jihoon nudges the ball aside and spends a moment trying to make sense of the messy scrawl and questionable spelling skills:

“Why didn’t you just leave your number you moron?” Jihoon says out loud to the empty room.

Dragging his laptop off the floor, he pries it open and boots it up, quickly logging into the campus intranet.

He searches for Seungcheol in the college enrolment list, intent on finding out what classes the guy’s studying, so he can show up in person and throw that stupid ball back in his face. But it’s a fruitless effort; there are no Choi Seungcheol’s registered at the college, for any of the classes, and when Jihoon checks, his picture isn’t on the football team roster either.

It’s not until Jihoon types— _Choi Seungcheol,_ in the standard browser, and navigates to Images, that he finds something: a greyscale image from a newspaper clipping that looks seriously out of date.

Jihoon begins to scroll down, already dismissing it—but the photo above the fold on the front page catches his eye. For an instant, it’s a stupid distracted thought — _that guy looks like Seungcheol_ — and then all at once the realization utterly derails Jihoon’s train of thought.

It _is_ Seungcheol.

It’s a high school graduation photograph of Seungcheol, smiling brightly at the camera in his cap and tabard. A stark contrast to the headline running alongside it.

_Tragedy on campus: Fraternity prank gone wrong results in disappearance of promising student._

The clipping cuts off there, but it’s the date in the top left hand corner that has all of Jihoon’s attention: _November...1999._

He swallows thickly, tightening his grip on the red ball he's been kneading in his hands like a stress toy.

This doesn't make any sense. He doesn't understand, can't think through the pounding in his head, the tight wrongness in his chest, the sensations—feelings—he has no words for. The only fair way to sum it all up is with a whispered, “Holy shit.”

* * *

There’s a shape lurking near the fountain in the park, a shadowy figure so huge and menacing in the darkness that Jihoon’s first instinct is to bolt—just peel away across the park and keep going until he can’t run anymore.

Instead he swallows his abject terror, feeling it hit the pit of his stomach like fifty pounds of oatmeal, and chokes out, “Seungcheol?”

His choking fear dissolves as the shape bounds forward out of the darkness, revealing six feet plus of fresh-faced exuberance.

“Jihoon, you came." Seungcheol says, flushed and breathless with happy relief. "I—I didn’t think you’d come back to see me. But I’m so happy you did.”

Jihoon manages a smile, pulling nervously at the straps of his backpack. Seungcheol’s eyes are red, so red – although in the darkness they shouldn’t have any colour at all – but Jihoon knows the colour, expects it, and fills it in, even with the shadows around them.

“Is something wrong? You look really nervous.” Seungcheol says, after the silence has pulled between them tight enough that it might snap, recoiling painfully into the back of Jihoon’s throat.

Twenty-four hours ago, Jihoon would have had a reaction for that, something normal and easy and funny, but now he can’t for the life of him figure out what that reaction should be. He really hopes this isn't how things are going to go now that he's figured everything out. 

He hesitates a little too long, frozen on the need to improvise, and for one, two, three seconds, he can only think of saying, ‘ _of course I’m nervous, I realised you’re actually a freaking werewolf and we had sex last night! I’m sorry I accused you of being a furry, please don’t kill me!’_ like that’s any kind of rational response from one person to another.

Finally, his throat unsticks, and a few words rush out, uncensored.

“Do you even know what _year_ it is?”

Which is only _marginally_ better than the _'how come you don't look older?!'_ bouncing around in his head.

“Uh, no. Sorry,” Seungcheol actually ducks his head, as though embarrassed, “I’ve kind of lost track of time living out here. Why? What year is it?”

Jihoon is suddenly unable to talk. He swallows several times, but no voice comes to his rescue.

He doesn’t know how to go about explaining everything he’s learned to Seungcheol—how to tell him he’s been missing, presumed dead, for over twenty years; how there’s a memoriam for him in the quad that Jihoon walks past practically every day, and that the college outright banned fraternity hazing rituals after what happened to him. How do you begin telling someone their parent’s marriage didn’t survive the distress of a missing child, that his father re-married and has a new family, that his older brother, now a businessman in his late thirties, still offers a cash reward to anyone who steps forward with information about his disappearance. 

There’s just some conversations you can’t find the words for.

He considers whipping out his phone, to show Seungcheol screenshots of all the articles he’s been reading, but now Seungcheol’s sniffing the air, then moving over to sniff his backpack, burrowing his nose there with an inquiring little noise.

“What’s that smell? What’s inside your bag? It smells really good.”

“Oh, uh, it’s food.” Jihoon says, loosening the grip on his bag, “I—I brought you a meatball sub. I brought you _three_ meatball subs actually; I figured you’d be hungry.”

“I _am_ hungry,” Seungcheol’s brightens impossibly, “I forgot to eat I was so busy searching for squirrels. You were right, they’re everywhere. They’re in all the trees. Can you believe it?” He puffs his chest out, looking proud of himself, “But don’t worry, I spent all day showing them who’s boss.”

Jihoon feels a stupid rush of tenderness as he looks at him, so heady his insides feel like one of those melt-in-the-middle chocolate puddings.

It's barely a conscious choice, just a little instinctive motion to push himself up on his tip toes and butt his forehead gently against Seungcheol’s, nuzzle their heads together. He's not sure _what_ his purpose is, exactly, but it probably involves making some sort of point. Sending _some_ kind of message.

Seungcheol's gaze is heavy when he moves back, which Jihoon expected. Then pensive, which he didn't. Then just as Jihoon’s beginning to worry he’s _completely_ misinterpreted the whole head- butting thing, Seungcheol ducks his head and blushes, blushes right to the tips of his ears.

“W-woah Jihoon,” He says, quietly, breathlessly. “I didn’t think you liked me _that_ much.”

There’s still a big possibility Jihoon _has_ misinterpreted the head-butting thing, because he was mostly going for an ‘I like you’ gesture, not necessarily a ‘I will give you all the blow jobs’ offer Seungcheol seems to take it for.

Oh well.

“Hey, listen,” Jihoon blurts out, blushing a little himself, much to his embarrassment, “It’s really cold out here. How about we go back to my dorm room? We can chill and eat, and I’ll let you play on my laptop as much as you want. And there’s uhm, some _stuff_ I wanna talk to you about too.”

Seungcheol smiles, big and infuriatingly endearing, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Okay.”

Jihoon turns back towards the exit, to head back the way he came, then stops and holds his hand out. Holds his out for Seungcheol to take.

Seungcheol does, tail wagging like crazy.

FIN.


End file.
